Marth had took some of the advice on some of the extensive writings supplied. That advice was to stretch his legs. He'd done so - both to look for cavalry or horses outside and take deep breaths of fresh air to try to consider things. He had to remain calm, and to any which might stumble upon him he was- he was just a man, slightly pale, but standing steadily enough - perhaps looking across the street idly. Yet inside he was struggling with one repeated thought, over, and over, his expression troubled - a set of keys and the "welcome package" still in hand.

This is my fault.

If anything, he'd always been too harsh with himself.